


surreal but nice

by extrarice



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bookshop, Celebrity Crush, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Notting Hill, Writer Jughead Jones, comics riverdale, jughead is a bookshop owner, maybe some smut, veronica lodge is a celebrity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23210206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extrarice/pseuds/extrarice
Summary: Jughead Jones owns a small bookstore in Riverdale, a town practically unknown but one long ride from New York City. He’s content with his rural life, but when famous actress Veronica Lodge visits his store one day; it changes his life forever.A Notting Hill inspired fic.
Relationships: Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 26
Kudos: 74





	1. meetings

Jughead opens his bookstore at exactly nine o’clock in the morning.

Though he could easily open it at any other time, Jughead likes to be punctual. It gives him organization in his life, even if it's just little. And he couldn't risk missing even a single customer. Not a lot of people come by in the mornings, however, mostly his busiest hours (if he can call it busy) are about two onwards. Still, he likes spending his time there; not much noise, except for the hustle in the nearby shops and his lucky windchime dancing. Just him and the cold winds, and the hum of his steady laptop.

That morning, however, is different.

At quarter to ten, someone walks in, alerting the windchimes by the door. He stares at the newcomer and taps his fingers on the counter.

“Can I help you?” he asks, unable to resist.

The person turns around, a woman. Jughead swallows thickly. Despite the many layers, he can tell she’s a beautiful woman. She has large sunglasses, but he can still see the smoothness of her face and the shimmering of her lips. The woman pulls the scarf tighter over her head yet he can still see her hairline: dark locks swept up, not dissimilar to his own. Her lips move and it takes him a while to figure out that she’s saying something.

“…if you have any Truman Capote?” she asks.

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat, “well, yeah, but unfortunately, I only have _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_.”

She raises an eyebrow; it shoots up from up her large sunglasses. She says in amusement, “Unfortunately?”

“Well,” Jughead laughs, scratching the back of his hand, “If you’re reading Capote, I’d suggest you’d do _In Cold Blood_.”

“I think you measure a writer’s ability when he makes you believe in the fictional, don’t you think?” she smiles, and he sees a peek of her white teeth.

“I think it’s how a reader can relate to the piece, but I get your point.” Jughead replies, undeterred, “But I’ll just get the book for you.”

He moves to one of the shelves without a second look. He grabs a newer copy of _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ and blows some of the dust off.

“Anything you recommend?” the woman asks, walking near him as she browses the titles.

“Based on this,” he gestures at the book he’s holding, “maybe _The Great Gatsby_?”

“That’s more high-class 1920s,” she replies.

“Well, _Mrs. Dalloway_?”

She gives a smile, “May I ask why?”

“Well, both Mrs. Dalloway and Holly Golightly are sweet women, but have faults of their own. And I suppose it has something to do with the world they live in. They live in such a patriarchal society, and they’re simply doing what they can to survive—even if it makes them look like gold diggers,” Jughead explains. He looks down on the book he’s holding, grazes the title eagerly.

“That’s an interesting insight,” she says. He glances back up and sees her reaching her hand out. “Do you have a copy of it, by chance?”

“Oh, uh,” Jughead can feel the tips of his ears redden as he passes the book over to her, touching barely the fabric of her gloved fingers. “Well, I’ll check. But I’m not confident that I still have some copies.”

“That’s fine,” she says. “I’ll just take this one then and I’ll be off.”

She turns around and Jughead slumps his shoulders. Even so, he walks back to the counter, taking in large strides in order to reach it first. He hides his disappointment with a cough, changing his demeanor to appear not rude. He rings the book and charges her squarely. When he wraps the book in plastic, he pretends not to notice how intently the woman is staring at him.

“Have a good day!” he exclaims, handing her the change and the plastic bag.

“When do you think you’ll have a stock on _Mrs. Dalloway_?” the woman asks as she takes what Jughead’s handing her.

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure. It depends on the supplier; sometimes I don’t get restock for weeks. But I can always ride to Greendale and look for a copy, if you want.”

“You’d do that?” she laughs, “Despite being a complete stranger?”

“Well, you’re a Capote fan,” Jughead shrugs, giving a reckless grin, “it must mean you have great taste.”

“And you trust people with great taste?”

“Where else would you base it on?”

She reaches for something in her coat pockets and hands it over. With a gleaming smile, she bids her goodbye, “Call me when you find the book.”

With that, she walks off.

Jughead’s left to stare at the card she’s given. Written in black solid letters is her number and her name: Veronica Lodge.

* * *

Betty Cooper is one of Jughead’s oldest friends, and only because they’ve been neighbors ever since. It’s funny, because they have always been opposites. She’s an overachiever, he puts no effort into anything, she’s a goody-two-shoes, he’s had his own run-ins with the law, she’s never had a problem in making friends while Jughead still struggles to this very day. Still, God knows why, she puts up with Jughead and he trusts her with all his life.

They meet at Pop’s, a run-down diner at the middle of town. It’s brimming with 50’s nostalgia: neon lights, checkered tiles, and even a jukebox that’s never worked. Jughead has always had a soft spot for the diner, especially since Poppa Poutine is the sweetest man he knows. Plus, his burgers and milkshakes are perhaps the best-tasting food in the world.

He sits on one of the booths, admiring Betty across him. She had always been pretty; he can’t deny that (he had a brief crush on her during high school). Today, however, she’s dabbed in glittery makeup, her baby blue eyes popping and cheeks in a permanent blush. For the first time in her life, she’s let her blonde hair down, showing off her perfect curls.

“How was your date?” Jughead asks, biting into the Cheeseburger Deluxe: a double bun, melted cheese and beef so juicy, the grease would drip if you did not bite it fast enough. It’s his favorite meal.

“It’s all right,” Betty shrugs, indulging in her fries.

“You’ve went on five dates with him now, and you’re still not impressed? You need to tell him, you know.” Jughead says amusedly, sitting more comfortable in his place.

“Well,” Betty sucks in her breath, “I don’t know what’s wrong: he’s sweet and cute! I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Jughead rolls his eyes. “Just tell him you’d rather be friends. He’ll get the hint.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, that’s all,” Betty mutters as she fiddles with her phone. Her face lights up from the phone’s screen, and he can faintly see the small creases from her makeup. She’s quiet for a moment before widening her eyes. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Reggie took a blurry shot of Sweetwater River!” she slams the phone to Jughead’s eye view. True enough, he sees a blurry picture of the famous Sweetwater River. It's long and vast, and he could almost feel the biting cold and the eeriness of the steady water. But he forces himself to take in what's different. Along by the river, there is a small crowd gathered: some are brightly colored but most are covered with large coats, holding equipment you only see in movie sets.

She pulls her phone back and squeals, “Listen to his caption: ‘I think I just shit my pants seeing Veronica Lodge!’ Oh, Juggie, this is amazing!”

Jughead’s pulse quicken and he draws silent fast breaths. He fakes a grin, hoping Betty doesn’t see right through him, “That’s crazy. Are they shooting a movie?”

But Betty’s already on it, he sees her typing vigorously on her phone. “It says here that Veronica Lodge is to star on a romcom movie! There aren’t many details yet, but I can’t believe they’re shooting _here_!”

She squeals again, blue eyes lighting up like fireworks. Jughead hasn’t seen her this crazy over a celebrity; she hasn’t had a boyband phase during middle school despite the girls in their grade were head-over-heels. So, he must ask, “Why are you freaking over her?”

“ _Because_ , Juggie, she is an amazing actress. Her first role was in the series 'Killer Wife'. It was supposed to be a one-time role, but she was so good that the directors _made_ her a recurring character! Oh, I loved her as Leigh, but they had to kill her off in the last season finale. Plus, get this, she’s just our age!” Betty exclaims.

Jughead’s not surprised to learn Betty likes a show with ‘killer’ in the title. She was always a fan of such morbid stuff.

“I wish I was an actress like her,” Betty sighs, “She’s _so_ pretty.”

“You can always drop out in med school,” Jughead offhandedly comments, suddenly feeling his pockets burning his skin.

“And risk the wrath of Alice Cooper? I’d like to live longer, thanks.”

They laugh together.

When it’s Betty’s time to leave, they share a quick hug. He sees her off as she drives off in her old pick-up truck, mumbling something about killers and wives. He chuckles, waving absently until she’s but a dot in the horizon.

He takes out the card given to him that morning.

Without a single thought, he takes his motorcycle to visit Greendale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked the first chapter! i'm going to add more again soon, considering we're quarantined here. this shouldn't be long; probably less than ten chapters. stay safe everyone!


	2. conversations

The next morning, he texts her: _Hi, I’m the bookshop owner from yesterday. I managed to find a copy of_ Mrs. Dalloway. _Let me know when you’re free._

He skims it over, a thousand times in fact, tweaking it until he’s come up with that. He can’t lie; his heart is in a frenzy, his palms are getting sweatier by the minute, and he’s taking such large breaths. He was nervous. The stranger that came in before was kind, Veronica Lodge seemed worlds apart.

Jughead sighs, there’s another reason why he’s nervous.

The phone vibrates. He flinches, but immediately unlocks it anyway, seeing her reply.

_I’ll be there in 15._

15 minutes? Jughead heats up. He though it wouldn’t be that fast. Aren’t actors supposed to be busy during shooting? Maybe they’re taking a break, or maybe they’ve already finished filming…

He can’t help but slump his shoulders forward.

The windchimes glitter his ears, and he looks up to the door.

Veronica Lodge smiles at him, this time with no more excess clothing. This time, he finds her dark eyes, twinkling with recognition. Seeing her now, Jughead’s breath hitches.

“Hi,” she greets, running a hand through her dark shiny hair. When she lets go, it frames her face perfectly, as if each strand is careful not to cover any part of her face. “I did a little bit of research on this shop.”

“Yeah?” he asks. He can’t take his eyes off her; it’s not every day you see a goddess.

“There’s not much I discovered,” she reaches the front of the counter, her eyes still locked on his. The next sentence comes as a whisper, as if it’s a secret she can’t help but tell, “Not even your name.”

“It’s, uh, Jughead. Jughead Jones the Third.”

She breaks into a grin. “Your parents named you that?”

Jughead shrugs, but he’s also grinning. “It’s a childhood nickname. It never changed since.”

“Well, I’m sure you already know me,” she says. She breaks eye contact momentarily. Jughead thinks she’s looking for the book, but he soon realizes that she’s shy.

“Uh,” Jughead clears his throat, attempts to be friendly, “Yeah, Veronica Lodge, right?”

Silence accompanies them.

“Any embarrassing nicknames yourself?” he chuckles nervously.

She chuckles, looking at him again. Her eyes are brighter now, and there’s something in him that doesn’t want her to ever look away. “No, unfortunately. I’ve always been Veronica.”

“It’s a great name. Famous, actually: there’s _Veronica Mars_ , I think there’s a saint called Veronica—”

“Not as great as Jughead,” Veronica teases, chuckling with a hand over her mouth. It’s a jingle that turns his ears reddish. “Can I see the book?”

Jughead swallows, “Yeah, here.”

When he hands it over to her, he feels a kind of dread. Is she going to leave now? It’s just a transaction, she’s a customer and he’s simply the cashier. Nothing more, nothing less. She got what she wanted, there’s no reason to stay, really. It’s not like he was expecting that they would hang out, right? That’s crazy…

“I haven’t eaten yet, you know,” Veronica suddenly speaks, handing him a 20-dollar bill. There’s a faint blush on her cheeks and his heart almost drops. “Maybe you know a place around here?”

He stares with his mouth agape, his cheeks already reflecting hers.

* * *

Surprisingly, Veronica is easy to talk to.

She’s accompanied by her own driver, an old silent man who she calls ‘Smithers’ affectionately. When they position themselves in the backseat, he sniffs a strong scent. It reminds him of the perfume section of the department store, expensive and clingy.

“Where do we go?” she asks, smile a dazzling sight.

“Just straight ahead.” Jughead is pushed back as Smithers start driving. He explains, “There’s a 50’s-themed diner near us. It has the best burgers; nothing comes close.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she chuckles. “New York has plenty of burger joints, you know?”

He shrugs, but his eyes are twinkling as well, “Pop’s the only one who serves burgers here—no one’s brave enough to beat the best.”

Jughead really can’t believe how easy it is to talk to her.

“No, no, Once Upon A Time in Hollywood is _priceless_ ,” Jughead’s saying through a mouth full of fries. He swallows and raises another fry to point at Veronica. “Gratuitous violence with a jab at the Hollywood industry? Yes please.”

Pop’s is bright and empty. It’s perfect, because Veronica doesn’t have to hide her identity, and Jughead doesn’t have to explain anyone why he’s with her. Riverdale is a small town, so most people here know each other. Because of its size, everyone’s gossipier—like they have a right to know everything about _everyone_. Poppa, the owner, is the only employee around for now. It all works out, Jughead reasons, Poppa always keeps to himself, never snitching.

Veronica rolls her eyes but she’s laughing, bright and tender. “You only like that movie because Tarantino directed it.”

“Well, I do have my biases,” he grins. “Maybe you should audition for a Tarantino film.”

“Oh, that would be a dream come true,” she sighs dreamily. He watches as sadness dances her eyes, and there’s a tug in his heart—she wears sadness well. “I’d like to be in more serious projects.”

“Then be in those.”

Veronica looks back at him, and he only pinpoints sadness. She fiddles with the straw of her strawberry milkshake as she replies, “I have an image to keep. The public wants me to be a smart, awkward teen.”

“So?” Jughead furrows his eyes. “Isn’t that why you’re an actress? To be different each time?”

“I’m still relatively unknown, Jug,” the nickname creates a splash in his stomach, “I have to keep up an image for my fans. Once I get a good foundation, I’ll switch it up,” Veronica explains.

“That sounds… really complicated,” Jughead frowns. He grabs a few onion rings and chews on it, deep in thought.

“Yeah,” she says softly, eyes lowering. “I thought being an actress would be simple, but it’s like you have to be aware of every detail, of every move.”

“And any wrong step could mean a blow to your career,” Jughead supplies.

She nods, smiling but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You got it.”

Jughead clears his throat, captures her eyes. He whispers, as if it’s a secret, as if they’re not the only ones here in the empty diner in an unknown town, “I think you’ll do great.”

The smiles she gives him is breathtaking.

He accompanies her to her car when it’s almost lunchtime and a few people have entered the diner. It’s crazy, Jughead thinks, how much he had smiled over the meal, how relaxed they talked. The way they comfortably walk in silence reminds Jughead how friendly they are. He wonders if he can call themselves friends.

Veronica hovers a bit before going in. “You’re sure you don’t want us to drop you off?”

“It’s fine, I have to do something before going back.”

She flinches when the phone in her hand vibrates. Jughead takes note of this and points out, “Plus, they’re already looking for you.”

She scoffs a bit, “They can wait a little longer. It’s not always I get to meet someone interesting.”

“Not enough interesting people in showbiz?” Jughead asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Once you’ve met one, you’ve met them all.”

They share a laugh.

Her phone vibrates again, and she decides it’s time to go. She holds his eyes with hers dark tantalizing circles that seem to hold a world of emotions. He sees her small mouth move, “Thanks for the meal, Jug.”

He nods, takes a leap, and says, unsure, “I’ll see you again?”

She tiptoes, despite already wearing heels, and places a soft kiss on his cheek. Her breath fans over him, and the smell of burgers and vanilla enters his nose. Before she pulls away, she whispers determinedly, “Definitely.”

When she’s gone, he lets out a shaky breath. He touches the place where Veronica’s kissed him, and he feels it burning through his skin.

Alone in his trailer that night, Jughead receives a text from Veronica.

_Want to watch Once Upon a Time in Hollywood with me?_

It’s embarrassing how fast he types ‘yes.’ He grabs his laptop and props it on his lap, readying the movie for him to watch. Veronica calls soon after and her breath tickles his ear that’s pressed on his phone. He thinks he smells burgers and vanilla.

“You sure you want to watch with me? I’ll just be interrupting in every scene,” Jughead chuckles.

“Just play the damn movie, Jug.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow i really didn't expect that i would get that many comments on my last chapter. thank you for the support and kind words! hope you liked this one as well :)


	3. birthday

The high he gets from watching the movie that night is shattered when he receives a text from his father.

_We’re having dinner with the Coopers tonight._

He breathes through his nose, closing his eyes. Both he and Betty have tried their best to ignore what was happening in the Cooper residence, they’ve both turned their heads and pretended that everything is normal. His father clearly does not want that.

At the same time, Betty messages him: _dinners gonna be awk._

Jughead rolls his eyes at Betty’s way of texting. You’d think, being an overachiever, Betty pays close attention to the nuances and grammar of the English language. Apparently, as Betty puts it, Jughead’s the only one who’s pedantic enough to care. Jughead had reminded her that she was also pedantic enough to care about the nuances of medical history. She chose to reply with a harsh shove.

_Don’t remind me._

He sighs, leaning on the counter. A few months ago, FP Jones II had the brilliant idea of asking Alice Cooper out on a date. Unfortunately, that meant that Jughead had to spend time with Alice, the same Alice who he spent his whole childhood afraid of because hell has no fury like a woman scorned. Though Alice had considerably tamed after officially divorcing her longtime husband, Jughead still felt that he could not talk to her without expecting a screaming match by the end of the conversation.

But he loves his father, so he tries.

He’s dressed in a fine pink button-up shirt, but unfortunately could only pair it with his worn-out jeans. As his dad requested, he brought over a small bouquet of daisies.

When he rings the doorbell, it’s Betty who answers. “Hey, Juggie. Your dad’s already here.”

He nods curtly. “Yeah, he texted me earlier. How are they?”

“Well,” Betty hums, taking the flowers from his hands, “the fact that they’ve been snuggling with each other the past hour has effectively rendered me disgusted.”

“Polly’s not going to come?” he asks as they step into the living room. He finds his father and Alice on the couch, cuddling with each other as they watch the television screen. His eyes soften considerably, because it’s not hard to soften at the sight of his old man looking happy in a long time.

“My mom didn’t invite her; Polly’s preparing for the twins’ birthday party tomorrow,” Betty explains before addressing the older couple in the room, “Juggie’s here, guys!”

“Jughead!” both his dad and Alice exclaim. Jughead offers an awkward smile as he’s swarmed by the two single parents. His father gives him a pat on the back and a ruffle on his hair. Alice, surprising everyone, hugs him. Jughead tenses but he manages to wrap his arms around her as well.

Alice reminds him of a someone else—a long lost memory, who also smells like oranges and cooking oil.

“How’s the bookshop, boy?” his father asks as the party moves to the dining room.

“Fine, normal as always,” he croaks out, looking over to Betty who’s busy talking animatedly with Alice. He sighs and warms up to the older man, “How are things with Alice?”

“Great, actually,” his father beams, eyes lighting up. It’s an expression that Jughead’s never seen before. “I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

Jughead freezes. He can’t say that he didn’t expect that; he knew that any relationship had one of two endings: break-up or marriage. He thought he had time (whether to accept it or to move away, he wasn’t quite sure) before any drastic changes like this would happen.

His father nods understandingly (since when he has been so calm?) and leaves him with his thoughts.

Dinner proceeds as normal as possible, with Jughead retreating to his quiet persona, a persona he had not used since high school.

* * *

Veronica is waiting for him at the doorsteps of his bookshop.

He blinks twice, making sure that it’s not an illusion or hallucination, (he hasn’t done marijuana in two years, so that can’t be it) before he approaches her.

She’s wearing, again, an oversized coat. Her hair’s loose and shiny, he thinks it would be soft to touch, easy when he runs his hands through. He stops right there, mainly because that line of thought does not do him any good and partly because he finds something more interesting about her.

A pair of glasses lie on the bridge of her nose. She’s reading, he realizes, and his eyes flicker down to her lap: it’s a copy of _Mrs. Dalloway_.

“You’re early,” he remarks, positioning himself in front of her.

She looks up. He sees her dark eyes twinkle with recognition, somehow her eyes are smaller through the glass. She smiles conspiringly and greets him good morning.

“Good morning,” he says, breathless. He’s supposed to caught her off guard, but why is it that he’s the one surprised? “What are you doing here?”

“There’re problems with the set, so I thought I’d come here,” she explains. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Well, it’s _Riverdale_ , you don’t have much else to go to.” Jughead shrugs. He walks past her to open the glass door with his jingling keys. “If you want, you can hang out here with me.”

“I’m okay with that.”

They enter the shop, the doors tingling with noise.

“But I have a birthday party to go to later, so I may be closing early,” Jughead says as he places himself back at the counter. He busies himself by checking the money in the cashier, “I can come with you to your hotel or something—”

“Can I go with you?” she interrupts.

He freezes. “What?”

“To the birthday party; can I come?”

Jughead looks at her with wide eyes and furrowed eyebrows. Everything he’s expected about Veronica, she breaks. He’d thought she’d be more superficial, but she’s enjoyed herself in a run-down diner like Pop’s. He thought she’s just passing the time, that’s why she came here, but he didn’t think she’ll want to spend more time with him.

Maybe he was better at making friends than he thought.

“Uh, sure,” Jughead sputters, “But, well, they _know_ you—”

“That’s fine!” she says hurriedly. He thinks he sees a flash of relief in her eyes, but he can’t be too sure. Veronica is still worlds away for him to dissect who she truly is. “I don’t really have much to do. Plus, all my co-stars are obnoxious.”

He bobs his head. “All right, but they’ll probably be boring, considering what you’re used to.”

“If they’re anything like you,” Veronica hums, “I’ll probably enjoy myself more than I expected.”

Polly and Jason Blossom’s house is small and tight, probably less than what they’re used to. But Jason has had no qualms giving up his inheritance of the Blossom fortune, and instead focus on his small family. Right now, he works modestly as an office worker over at Greendale. Alice has long since forgiven him for impregnating her eldest daughter by the end of their senior year. In fact, Jughead has a small inkling that Alice has long since forgiven everyone who’s hurt her. And, as Jughead watches his father chats with her, he knows why.

Beside the house, there’s a small plot of land that they’ve turned into a modest garden. The garden is flanked by large bushes, thick enough so that no one’s able to go through. The only way in is to enter the house itself and walk through a screen door. As the two descend the stairs to the garden, he hears Veronica gasp in amazement. He doesn’t blame her—he did too when he first saw it. The grass is long but not sharp, soft enough for your bare feet to run around. By the large hedges, there lay various flowers: pansies and camelias, roses and marigolds, poinsettias and white daffodils. All these There are two picnic tables, already filled with the guests of the family. At the center of it all is a small slide which the twins are using it to their full advantage.

“Juggie!” someone calls from the picnic tables, but Jughead already knows without looking that it’s Betty.

“Hey, Betts,” Jughead greets as they near each other. “I have someone you’d like to meet—”

“Oh my God! _You’re_ Veronica Lodge!” Betty shrieks. Everyone in the party looks over to them, and Jughead rubs the back of his neck and must assure everyone that everything’s okay.

“Yeah, I am,” Veronica says, smiling brightly. “You are?”

“I’m Betty Cooper, Jughead’s best friend,” Betty announces. “How did you guys meet?”

Jughead hastily jumps in, “At the shop—she was browsing at some books earlier.”

Before Betty can say anything further, Jughead steers Veronica towards the picnic tables. She whispers (she knows how to adapt), “Is there any reason you’re not telling the truth?”

“She doesn’t know I met you the day before,” Jughead whispers back.

They break off once Jughead sees his father waving from his seat. Jughead carefully lowers his eyes, but walks over to him anyway. He gestures at Veronica to take a seat next to him, which Veronica happily takes. 

“Hey, Jug, who’s this pretty lady?” his father asks, but he's not looking at Jughead.

“My name’s Veronica Lodge,” she replies.

Jughead takes the seat opposite Veronica. He introduces, “This is FP Jones, he’s my father.”

His father tuts him, “Don’t forget the suffix, boy. FP Jones the Second.”

Veronica, amused, then asks, “What does FP stand for?”

“Dad—” “Forsythe Pendleton!”

She twitches an eyebrow, a beautiful grin encompassing her features. “ _That_ is a great name.”

Jughead groans in his hands.

“Jug!” someone grabs his shoulder. “Hey, man, I missed you.”

He looks up to find a bright red-headed man, Archie Andrews. Despite addressing Jughead, Archie’s eyes are staring at Veronica, clearly enamored. At this, Jughead can only roll his eyes. Archie is his other oldest friend, a football player and a musician, he lives in California right now but drops by whenever there are events like these.

“Hey, Arch,” Jughead greets, “How are you and Josie?”

At this, Archie deflates a little. He sits the empty spot next to Jughead, opposite his father, and mutters, “She’s doing great. She has a concert with the Pussycats at Orlando.”

“You’re in a relationship with Josie McCoy?” Veronica interrupts.

Archie blinks. “Uh, yeah. Though, we’re on rocky waters right now…”

Veronica doesn’t seem to notice him trailing off. She squeals, “I _love_ The Pussycats. They’re amazing.”

Jughead watches as she explains why their latest album made her a fan. He’s half-listening though; he’s busy staring at how her lips quiver in excitement, how bright her features seem to shine when she’s yapping off.

By the end of her semi-rant, Archie’s interest in her seems to wave off. He shrugs but humors her anyway, “I’ve helped write some of those songs, you know.”

“Then you’re a song-writer?”

“Partly. I’m also working at UCLA.”

At this, FP Jones buts in, “How about you, Veronica, what do you do for a living?”

Veronica is speechless for a moment, her eyes blazing with joy. She replies, “I’m an actress.”

His father frowns, “Really? Well, I understand that you’re pretty and all, but that doesn’t pay much, huh?”

From Archie’s squeak beside Jughead, he’s sure that Archie has already recognized the woman in front of them. Veronica looks over to him with a soft smile before replying, “They pay well enough.”

His father grunts, “Being an actress is an unstable job, you know. They pay _horribly_ , and it’s hard to be successful in an oversaturated market like that.”

“That is true,” she echoes.

“I’d suggest you change your career, child. We’ve got enough of actors running amok and you’re too pretty to be overlooked by them. How much you get from the role you last played?”

She smiles slyly, looking over to Jughead with tantalizing eyes. Jughead cannot help but offer the same mischievous smile. “One million.”

“See? O—” his father freezes. He repeats it, “One million?”

“FP,” Archie whispers, “ _that’s_ Veronica Lodge! From _Reflection_!”

The older man widens his eyes in recognition. _Reflection_ , a movie that released over a year ago, had starred Veronica; her first dramatic role as a young widow who had to survive during the war. Jughead saw it but wasn’t impressed at the time. He makes a note to watch it again later.

“Oh, I _loved_ you in that.”

Veronica laughs in reply.

Jughead drives her back at the hotel when the night falls.

They’re laughing at something Archie had said—he doesn’t remember but he does like the way she laughs. Closed eyes, mouth twisted, and cheeks heavily flushed; he thinks she looks beautiful.

“They’re good people,” she murmurs.

“Yeah, I suppose they are,” he says, glancing over to her. She looks tired, but happy-tired, if that’s a word. Tired from all the conversations, all the relationships she had begun. He thinks that she belonged, as if she’s lived in Riverdale her entire life.

“I wish I could say the same about my family,” she whispers. Jughead hears it and thinks of anywhere in the news where the last name of Lodge was mentioned.

“I’m sure they’re good people as well,” he tentatively says, “I mean, they had you.”

Soon, he pulls over to the hotel she’s staying at. It’s the nearest hotel from Riverdale, three-star as he remembers. It’s an okay hotel, and he’s only visited a few times. Mostly, it’s used by truck drivers who wants to rest before moving on. Right now, each window is bright: for the first time, it’s fully booked.

Veronica watches him carefully.

“Well, this is where I bid you goodbye,” he chuckles nervously. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” Veronica echoes, closing the distance between them and entrapping him with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! if you've watched notting hill, i've borrowed and reworked some of the scenes from there. i realized (thanks to the comments) that both jughead and veronica here are too soft. i'm not really going to add some darker themes here, because i made this with archie comics in mind. which may be the reason why they're carefree. let me know what you think. hope you enjoyed this one!


	4. kisses

He stares at the mirror for hours, replaying the moment in his mind.

Coarse fingers graze his lips, and he pictures hers descending, smooth and perfect. He pictures her eyes, darkening as they flutter close. Jughead remembers thinking how ethereal she looked: shining cheeks, dark lips, features glowing under the moonlight. The darkness enveloped her, as if she owned it, and he had a hard time drawing the line where her hair ended, and the darkness began. But his lips were warm and wet, his heart was in a frenzy, and he can smell vanilla.

He kissed Veronica Lodge. _Jughead Jones_ kissed Veronica Lodge.

He screams into his hands, the muffled sound filling their small bathroom. Even now, his heart is going crazy under his chest. It’s as if he ran three miles; he can even hear it in his ears.

“Boy, you’ve been in the bathroom for a long time now—aren’t you going to the store?” his father asks behind the door, knocking as he does so.

Jughead answers that he’ll be right out. He tries to stop smiling, but no matter what he does, it keeps creeping back into his mouth.

His father points it out, “What are you doing with your face? Are you… smiling?”

That’s enough to make him scowl.

“There’s my boy.”

For the first time, he opens past nine. He doesn’t notice at first, but when he does; he finds himself not caring at all.

For the first time in a long while, he opens his laptop and clicks on the word processor. He types quickly; words had always been easy for him. He’d long forgotten how it felt when you typed, but his fingers didn’t need long to figure it out again. Betty once said that he was gifted, back when they were the only writers for the school’s newspaper. Jughead disagreed, because he didn’t feel gifted—he just liked putting down each thought that came to mind.

The words fly into his laptop and it isn’t long until he stops. His brain catches up with his fingers and he quickly reread what he had written. A short story, he realizes, but how will it end?

The windchimes jingle.

“Juggie!” “Jug!”

He looks up and finds his two childhood friends walk into his shop. Archie’s arms are swung around Betty’s shoulders, both in an animate conversation with one another. Looking at them now, Jughead’s overcome with nostalgia. High school seems like a lifetime ago, a lifetime of awkwardness and crushes, embarrassment and pointless fighting. He remembers Betty and Archie’s pseudo-relationship, how they tread over being romantic and platonic. Right now, however, Betty’s eyes don’t shine like they used to when she looks at Archie and Archie touches her without the secrecy or urgency he used to. Jughead thinks they’ve grown better.

“Hey, guys,” Jughead greets back as he closes his laptop. “What are you guys doing here?”

“What else?” Betty rolls her eyes, leaning over to poke the dark-haired boy on the forehead. “Why have you been keeping Veronica Lodge from us?”

“Also,” Archie pipes up from behind her, “are you guys dating?”

Jughead bursts into a red mess. He sputters, flashes of the night before cover his thoughts, “We’re not dating! I _just_ met her.”

“How?” Betty presses. Her eyes glint and her nose scrunches up, involuntarily as Jughead knows, it always happens whenever she’s deducing something.

“She walked in the bookshop one day and I invited her. She said she wasn’t going to do anything that day,” Jughead explains as he tugs on his collar.

Archie laughs, “We’re just teasing, Jug. I’ve never seen you with a woman before.”

Jughead coughs, “I’ve had girlfriends before.”

Betty rolls her eyes, “You mean taking them to _one_ date and ghosting them after?”

He scowls, annoyed. Though he’s only annoyed because Betty’s hit the bullseye. “What are you two doing here anyway? Besides interrogating me.”

Archie offers, “Lunch, actually.”

Jughead checks his watch; he can’t believe it’s past eleven already. But it’s not like Jughead’s ever denied eating, so he quickly grabs his things and walks out the shop with his best friends in tow.

Pop’s onion rings are sweeter than they are salty. He’s grown to love them, the crunchiness, how the oil drips once bitten, and the fact that it was soft enough to swallow, you won’t realize that you’ve already eaten one plate in a span of twenty minutes. But Betty and Archie have always been used to his never-ending appetite, so even if they _did_ notice, they don’t comment on it.

“You should ask her out, Jug,” Archie says, dipping his wedge in ketchup before popping it in his mouth. “She likes you; I can tell.”

“Yeah, you should shoot your shot, Juggie,” Betty agrees. “If she rejects you, at least you were able to let it out.”

Jughead swallows another onion ring whole. He hesitates, but decides to tell them anyway, “We kissed last night.”

“ _Oh my God_.”

They turn into a hot flurry of questions. Mostly they’re in disbelief, but a specific question from Archie makes him pause and rethink.

“Are you going to call her?”

* * *

The rest of the afternoon passes by in a blur. Though, Jughead’s used to a shop that barely gets customers, the silence unnerves him. He checks his messages, but her name doesn’t come up. He rationalizes that maybe she’s busy—a movie set will always be busy. But there’s a downer in him that’s saying that maybe she has decided to ghost him, that maybe he’s just a momentary lapse in judgement.

But it’s Archie’s voice that makes him think: maybe she’s just waiting for a text?

Maye Betty’s right, maybe he should take this chance. God knows how long since he’s liked another person romantically.

He takes a large breath and quickly types: _are you busy tonight?_

He gets a reply later that night, when he’s already rested in his trailer, already accepted the fact that maybe she’s just not interested as he thought she was.

_Come over. Room 207. Ask for Holly Golightly._

He doesn’t waste one second.

Jughead finds the hotel lobby drab and unappealing, but that’s because he doesn’t like yellow. The wallpapers are a dull yellow, bright and obnoxious and with distinct patterned lines. He finds the lobby a bit busier than they should, thinks he sees a crowd of men in suits, cameras in their hands. Still, he chooses to face the reception, an old man with a certain twinkle in his eyes and asks for Miss Golightly.

“Just one second, sir, I’ll call her to let her know,” he says kindly.

Jughead nods and waits, watching the old man talk briefly into the phone. He feels blood pumping in his ears, and around him conversations seem indistinguishable.

“She’s expecting you, sir. Room 207.”

He gives a quick thank you before rushing off.

Jughead’s body is shaking with nerves, and he remembers a similar feeling back when he had to read out his winning essay out loud in the school assembly. He feels as if there are a hundred eyes watching his every move. Just to make sure, he hangs his head low, staring at the weird swirly red carpet and watching his worn-out sneakers take their steps.

His mind is rushing and finally he reaches 207. The hallway is eerily quiet, and he hasn’t seen anyone pass by. He thinks he can’t do this; it’s so easy to just go home and chat Veronica that he isn’t feeling well. But he’s already here, and there’s a bigger part of him that wants to see where this goes.

He knocks on the door.

There’s a flurry of small movements behind the door, he can feel her pause, checking into the peephole. Tentatively, the door opens. She pops out, small and bright eyes.

“Hi,” Jughead says breathlessly, because it’s Veronica, the prettiest woman he’s ever seen.

“Hey,” she whispers back. He wants to think she’s breathless staring at him as well.

They walk into her hotel room. It’s wide, like Jughead’s expecting, with the same type of carpet from the hallways. But it’s also messy too, pieces of fabric and unused clothes litter the floor near the dresser. They look expensive, each with complicated frillings and ribbons; these must probably be for the movie.

“Want a drink?” Veronica asks. Looking at her now, Jughead finds wrinkles and tired eyes, even a hint of eyebags under them. Her shoulders are slumped and her footsteps dragging. It’s strange to see her like this, and yet he’s flattered that she still wants him here.

“Sure,” he says.

There’s a minifridge near the front door and she takes two bottles of beer out. They settle in the couch right by the foot of the bed, him taking sips and her taking huge swings. It’s quiet, but Jughead finds it relaxing and surprisingly comforting as well.

“How’s work?” Jughead asks, for a lack of a better topic.

Veronica hoists up her legs on the couch, her feet grazing Jughead’s thighs. She shoots him a tired but appreciative smile before replying, “My publicist is killing me. She sent interviewers a week early for promotion. We haven’t even shot the last few scenes!”

“Why would she do that?” Jughead prompts. He’s distracted by her feet, cute small toes that look like they can barely reach half the size of his fingers. They’re warm when they graze his jeans. Without a single thought, he reaches over to touch the big toe. Veronica seems to relax on his touch as she finally allows her feet to rest on the side of his thighs.

“I don’t know,” Veronica admits, watching him outline each of her toes. “But she always tells me that I have a lot of potential.”

Finally, he props up her feet on his lap. He puts pressure on her sole and massages it slowly; he’s not an expert at it but he feels Veronica’s tension slowly evaporating. He doesn’t forget to reply, “Potential is subjective; who’s to say what you should be in the future besides yourself?”

Veronica is silent, but he hears her drown the beer.

“That doesn’t work in this industry,” she finally says, “there’s always criteria, always rules to follow. Someone higher up gets to call all the shots.”

Jughead pauses, thinks aloud, “That’s true; everyone seems to be always following someone higher.”

Veronica sighs shakily. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to dump it all on you. I’m just tired, I guess.”

Jughead looks at her, his eyes meeting darkness. He offers a smile, a friendship of sorts, “I’m here to listen, Veronica.”

Something in her makes her look away. In a low voice she tells him, “Sorry for kissing you last night. It was probably a shock.”

“Well, yes,” he says, “But I liked it.”

Their eyes meet again. He sees hope.

He stops massaging for now, overwhelmed. Blushing with nervousness, he says, “I… I was actually assuming that we were going to continue it tonight.”

Her face contorts with amusement. It only makes him blush harder. He continues, thinking he might as well dig himself deeper, “I-It’s stupid, I know. You’re a movie star and I’m just…”

He trails off, staring at Veronica as she crawls over to his lap. She’s small, he realizes, she fits snuggly on his lap, legs wrapped around his torso, body dangerously close to his. He feels her breath fan his face when she says, “You’re just a bookshop owner who’s sweet and who I find _really_ attractive.”

He licks his lips, the action causing her eyes to drop below. He’s sure she can feel his heart hammering against his chest.

“I find you really attractive, too,” he almost whimpers.

Her fatigue from earlier seems to vanish completely. Now, he’s looking up at darkened eyes, like a predator’s about to pounce on their prey. She’s waiting, he realizes, waiting for her prey to make a move.

Maybe she wants this as much as he does.

So, with a sudden dash of confidence, he lowers her head and meets her lips halfway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i already have an idea how to end this story, so probably two or three chapters left? hoped i gave justice to their sexual tension lol. anyway thank you for the comments!! i really appreciate it <3 hope you like this chapter as well!


	5. fights

Jughead discovers that Veronica pours everything in her kisses. He finds frustration in her bites, desperation in the pumping of her veins, maybe even a brief of longingness in her breaths. He holds her waist, tentatively walking the map that is her back while she navigates his messy dark hair. Now, he feels euphoria. It’s never been his nature to hook up with girls, but somehow, he doesn’t need to second-think with her.

He kisses her jawline; she moans to the sky.

Her moans power him but also her hands. She gestures him to each part of the body he should kiss, and he follows with no questions. She guides his hands on the hook of her bra and he unclasps it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, breathlessly. But he’s looking into her eyes, euphoric, undaunted.

She smiles like the goddess she is and allows him to make love to her.

They wake up at four am, when the world is still and unreal.

“Have you always pictured yourself in the bookshop?” she asks, trailing her fingers over his chest. They lay in a bed of rustled sheets and tangled limbs.

“No,” he confesses. “We just recently learned that the land was my grandfather’s property. I decided to make it a bookshop since I love books and I figured it’s the only thing I can be.”

She frowns, “What do you mean by that?”

“My family’s poor, Veronica.” It feels strange to say her name but it’s also warm and _right_. “I live in a trailer with my single father and I don’t have the skills to get myself to a university or a better job. Not a lot of people leave Riverdale, and I’m one of them.”

They stir in the silence for a moment. Jughead doesn’t break it; he knows that Veronica is gearing up for something to say.

“What do you want to take in university?” she asks softly.

“Anything,” Jughead shrugs. “But mostly I wanted to be a writer.”

“Wanted?”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Want.”

Her hand stops at his stomach. It slowly fades away before sneaking into his hand. Before he knows it, she’s holding his hand gently with such care that he’s never received before. He holds her hand back, tries to hold back his tears, and he thinks he’s glad to live.

“Send me some of your writings,” she whispers.

“You don’t need to read them,” Jughead laughs. “I haven’t written since high school.”

“Then send me those,” she says, more confident this time. As if she means it.

He’s swept away by her strong eyes. Beautiful and intimidating, her eyes can order anything it wants and Jughead will be dumb enough to give it to her. Still, he asks, “Why?”

She reaches over to him, gives him a soft kiss on his lips. She doesn’t pull away, stays on his chest and stares at him face-to-face. “I want to know you better.”

Jughead agrees, so long as they watch her movies together.

The next night, they watch _Killer Wife_. It’s a pretty straightforward series: the wife kills people and she does everything in her power to escape the authorities. He fast forwards to the episode where she’s introduced. A young rookie cop who helps the main detective chase after the killer wife. As he watches Veronica on the screen, he finds Betty to be right. She is refreshing, keeps the mood light and plays the role of a cop to the bone. He understands why she’s become a favorite on the show: her banter with the other cast members felt authentic and yet respectful.

She’s half paying attention, focusing instead on his laptop where she’s opened a bunch of his writings. Her feet are propped on his lap, and Jughead absently trails his fingers around her toes. Their situation feels intimate, more intimate than sharing a bed somehow.

Jughead asks, “Did you like working on the show?”

Veronica looks up, eyes dangerously dark, “Sure. But they’re just steppingstones to better roles.”

Her answer is ruthless but it’s the truth. He appreciates that she tells him this, because they’ve already shown their bodies to each other, why not lay everything down already?

“You’re amazing… who wouldn’t want to sign you on?” he says as sincere as possible.

She looks up momentarily, their eyes crossing. He knows she gets that a lot; anyone can see clear as day that Veronica Lodge is an incredible actress and she _knows_ it. She’s at the beginning of a career that will undoubtedly peak. He imagines her through the screen, receiving awards. A world so far apart from his. She knows this also and she doesn’t point it out, neither does he, so she chooses to offer a small smile. Jughead understands, and yet something in her eyes is warm and grateful. He thinks he said the right thing.

They stay in silence until the wee hours of the morning, with only the television and his laptop providing the only sounds and light for the room.

They tuck themselves in when Jughead finishes _Killer Wife_ , up until the end where Leigh is killed off. Their kisses are lazy and casual, but it is still sweet. Even slower is how they melt their bodies against each other, but it’s the first time Jughead feels wanted. They end with him cuddling her, her hair sprayed across his chest. He smells oranges and sweat.

“You’re an amazing writer, Jug,” Veronica whispers to his heart.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

“You should be published,” she hums, her voice slurring by the minute. He can tell she’s tired, and he feels bad for letting her sleep so late when she has a shooting hours later. Instead, he doesn’t reply to her and chooses to comb her hair, letting himself drift off to sleep.

Like before, they’re woken by Veronica’s publicist who is banging on the hotel door loudly.

“You need to be ready in an hour, Veronica!”

She stirs, groaning as she wakes up. Jughead watches her leave his chest, watches her stretch and yawn. She reminds him of a kitten. Small and yet deadly all the same. There’s longing in his chest, and he wishes to himself that she’s a sight he sees every morning.

“Give me a minute!” Veronica shouts back.

“It’s already nine o’clock! We need to be ready so we can go back to New York earlier!”

Silence. Veronica’s glaring at the door.

Jughead blinks, realizing what’s happening. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She looks down. “I-I just found out last night. I was going to tell you today.”

He looks down as well, staring at the scattered sheets. She’s untangled herself from him, and his heart can do nothing but cry. He whispers, “So, I guess that’s it then.”

She inhales sharply, looks at him with hurt eyes, “I didn’t say I want to end this.”

‘This’ is not familiar to Jughead. He’s had few dates before, never with someone as famous as her, but even he knows the next step between them. She heads back to New York, be the actress she wants to be, while he crawls back to his bookshop. ‘This’ has always been a momentary thing. He’s always known that in the back of his mind.

“I don’t want to either,” Jughead defends. They sit far apart from the bed, watching one another. “But think about it realistically, Veronica, you have a different life in New York. I have to stay here.”

Her cheeks flame and takes a large breath. Jughead knows he’s in for, but he’s surprised when she exclaims, “But you have a talent for writing! You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to—you can get out!”

Jughead shakes his head, chuckling humorlessly, “You don’t understand, Veronica. I can’t afford to walk out here.”

“Then make a way!” she insists.

“I can’t,” he groans. “I’m not like you. You have your name, you have connections—I have _nothing_.”

Her eyes are glassy, but she’s angry, glaring at his shape. “I worked _hard_ in everything I do, Jug. I worked my ass off to land me the roles I want! My family had nothing do with it.”

“But they did, didn’t they?” he croaks out. “I know you have talent, but don’t tell me your family didn’t do anything at all. You can get acting lessons and meet other celebrities. I can’t do anything with my talent; I don’t have the money.”

She looks away, tears are already flowing. He crawls over to her, wipes it all. Involuntarily, he places their foreheads together, closing his eyes at their proximity.

“We’re from two different worlds, Veronica. I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Who hurt you, Jughead?” she whispers back.

He pulls away, but he holds her hands tightly. “Everyone.”

He walks out of the hotel later that morning, his eyes red and puffy and his lips tingling.

* * *

“Are you kidding me, Jug?” Betty almost screams. She hurls an onion ring on Jugehad’s face, the latter contorting his face at the contact. “You blew it!”

“It’s better this way, Betts,” Jughead huffs. He grabs the onion ring that’s fallen on their table and eats it anyway.

They’re at Pop’s for lunch, again. Against his better judgement (and the fact that his two best friends noticed his red eyes), he tells the story of what happened between him and Veronica. As he retells it, Jughead realizes how hurt Veronica must have been, and yet she hadn’t burst out.

Archie is shaking his head besides Betty. High-pitched, he admits, “I don’t know, Jug. You were kind of an asshole.”

“He _is_ an asshole,” Betty rolls her eyes. “Jug, she just basically said she wanted to be in a relationship with you! And you denied it because, what? You want to stay in this unknown town?”

Jughead glares at Betty when she flings another onion ring at his face. He corrects, “I _have_ to stay in this unknown town.”

Before Betty can answer back, it’s Archie who stops her. He grabs Jughead’s gaze, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and warm. “Listen, Jug. When my dad died, I thought I had to stay here. I didn’t want to leave mom alone. But she told me to go to California, study my passions, and I did. I’ve never been happier since.”

Jughead opens his mouth to respond, but Archie cuts him off. “ _No_ , you listen to me. I know what you’re thinking: you’re poor and you don’t believe you have what it takes. You _do_. Stop trying to act like you can’t—you won’t know if you don’t do anything!”

Betty holds Jughead’s hand, it’s lean and warm and nothing like Veronica’s small ones. She’s not angry now, but there’s a certain hardness in her. “We’ll always have your back, Juggie.”

“Think about it,” Archie presses.

Jughead lets out a breath.

He arrives at their trailer late at night. Sadness has enveloped him and doing basic things like closing the shop or checking out a book had become hard tasks. His eyes have not left the ground the whole day.

When he opens the door, his father is waiting for him.

“Son,” he says, immediately after Jughead’s closed the door, “We need to talk.”

And they did.

“Betty told me what happened,” the older man starts. “I understand I haven’t been the greatest dad, but I did try my best, Jug.”

Jughead doesn’t respond.

His father sighs. He fiddles his fingers before starting again, “When your mother left, it was the darkest days of my life. I was angry, I abandoned you, became something I despised. It took me a long time to get out of it, but I did, and you were there to support me.

“You’re afraid of new things, Jug, and that’s understandable. You don’t have to stay here, and you don’t have to stay with me. The world’s scary, but I think that’s what makes it amazing at the same time, don’t you think?”

It’s a long time before Jughead replies and Jughead replies with a hushed, cracked voice. “I thought if I pushed her away, it won’t hurt. I don’t want her to leave like mom did, like how you did.”

He lets out a strangled sob and his father is beside him in seconds, cradling his only son. Jughead hears him apologize a thousand times, but he’s long past forgiven his father. He wants to bask in his love, instead.

“It’s safe in Riverdale,” Jughead says roughly, “I don’t get to fail here.”

“You don’t get to bloom here either,” his father replies, “Take a risk, boy. I did with Alice, and it’s the best decision of my life.”

Jughead sniffs, and there’s a newfound respect and love he has for his father… and for Alice as well.

“Thanks, dad.”

When he opens his bookstore, he’s surprised that he an unknown ID is calling from his phone.

“Hello?” he asks when he picks up.

“Is this Jughead Jones?” a deep voice asks from the other side.

“Yes,” he says, eyes furrowed.

“We’ve received some of your short stories yesterday. Let me just say, we’re impressed. How would you like to be published?”

Jughead almost drops his phone, but he’s sure he’s dropped his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is the last one! i really thank each and every one who commented and gave kudos to this story. i'm glad people are enjoying it. stay safe always and hoped you liked this one!


	6. endings

All his things fit in a large backpack that he easily swings over his shoulder. He pretends not to see the hurt when his father bids him goodbye, knowing that it’s not his first time to leave home. But more than hurt, there is pride. His father bids him goodbye for the first time without a trace of pity in his eyes. Jughead leaves his home without the fear of abandonment—he leaves with a dash of hope.

He hasn’t exactly planned everything yet, but his publisher has agreed to meet with him the next morning and the only person he knows in New York had broken off whatever they had. She probably did not think they’d ever meet again.

But Jughead wants to try.

The older man bids him off from their trailer, as Jughead revs up the motorcycle. His father owned it for a moment in time, but now he’d pass it on to him. Besides, it’s not like the old man was going anywhere, not when he finally has Alice in his arms.

“Bye, dad,” Jughead calls out from underneath his helmet.

“Bye, son! Call me when you get to New York!”

And New York isn’t that far away. A few hours from Riverdale, sure, but Jughead knows he’ll get there in the late afternoon. He’s always wanted to see the City that Never Sleeps, and he did: in an impromptu road trip with his best friends. But now, there’s an actual chance he can stay there, _live_ there.

He revs up the motorcycle and drives.

He arrives at New York just as he had planned. The sun on the horizon is almost setting, he’s stuck in a small café in God-knows-where, and he’s suddenly very aware that not planning anything is biting him back in his butt. He sighs into his coffee, not as great as Pop’s would have made, but it tastes okay, nevertheless.

When he had seen New York in the horizon, he had felt something stir in him. When he inhaled the cool air, he’s inhaling the culture, the beauty of such a historical city. He drove in headfirst, watching the small houses upgrade into skyscrapers, a smile gracing his lips when he realized he’s _there_. It felt right, he decided, when the wind grazed his jacket, when his blood pumped with more vigor than in his entire life, when he final saw the people: loud and obnoxious, yet still unique.

But he had crashed into this small café, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He had suddenly realized that New York was too big, and he was just a small boy from an unknown town. Could he even live in such a bright and noisy city? The questions plagued him and soon he stopped. He hadn’t eaten much on the way, still his stomach wasn’t complaining, so he settled for this coffee.

Finally, Jughead decides to bring out his phone and calls his father. He’s supposed to and, who know, he might give him advice on how to take him out of his rut.

“Hey, boy, you arrived in New York already?” is the chipper father’s response.

“Yeah, I’m—well, I don’t know exactly where I am. I haven’t really thought this through,” Jughead admits, staring straight at his coffee.

“Veronica lives there, right? Maybe you can ask her where to go,” his father says.

“We’re in a fight, remember? I don’t think she wants to see me,” he snaps.

His father is silent on the other line, and Jughead clenches his eyes in regret. But before he can say sorry, his father has already started talking, “You know, when Alice and I get into fights, sometimes I let her go. Let her cool for a while. But I know just because we fought, we’ll never stop loving each other and we just need to talk it through together.”

Jughead relaxes, “Do you… do you think I love her?”

“Well, boy, what you’re feeling for her is clearly _not_ hate.”

This shuts him up.

“I’ve seen you during the twins’ birthday party—you looked really happy, Jug.”

Jughead knows what his father’s insinuating. His whole life, Jughead had constantly faced struggles. He always had to settle for less, whether it was to start the bookshop rather than go to college or to be abandoned with his alcoholic father rather than choose to go with his mother. Dreaming isn’t something he had the privilege to do. But now…

From the background, he hears someone talk. His father confirms it, “Sorry, Jug, I gotta go. Tell me what happens, okay? You’ll be fine.”

Will he be fine?

But he thanks his father, nonetheless, because he realizes he needs to see Veronica.

He brings up her number and calls it. Three rings and she’s not picking up, Jughead needs another strategy. So, he opens Instagram and digs in her profile. He gasps when he sees she’s uploaded a story.

“Hey, guys!” Veronica’s voice cuts through him like a knife. She’s smiling, all bright and shiny. She’s not the person Jughead had spent the night before. “I’m here at Tiffany’s and I’m actually thinking of buying a necklace for myself. What do you guys think?”

The story ends, but Jughead looks at the timestamp: roughly ten minutes ago.

There’s time, he reasons out, he can catch up to her. This is merely speculation, but he can’t help the hope that’s building in his heart. He searches for the directions to the nearest Tiffany’s and leaves his coffee steaming hot.

He swerves through traffic, thanks God that he’s in a motorcycle, and before he knows it, he’s already on 5th Avenue, breezing through the stores.

Before he spots Tiffany’s, he spots her first.

She’s wearing a sleek black dress, carrying shopping bags in each hand. A string of pearls litters her neck, resting nicely against her collarbones. She’s wearing large shades, but he recognizes her—familiar with her skinny legs, with her raven hair that frames her face perfectly, with her small sweet lips he’s kissed far too few for his tastes.

He skids his motorcycle to a stop in front of her. He watches her jump in surprise at the sudden action and decides to take off his helmet. She takes off her sunglasses as well and he watches recognition fill her eyes and her jaw drop in surprise.

“Jughead?” “Veronica.”

They overlap. Suddenly, Jughead feels a bit stupid for not thinking this thoroughly. What’s he supposed to say?

She starts, thankfully, “Why are you here?”

“I, uh, well—some publisher rang me yesterday. I’m going to meet him tomorrow,” he explains. He doesn’t move from his position, waits for any indication that Veronica’s forgiven him somehow. But how can she forgive when he’s not even apologized?

So, he adds, “I’m sorry for being a jerk.”

She laughs, shaking her head, “No, no, I’m sorry for not understanding you. Sometimes I get ahead of myself.”

“But that’s only because you’re right,” Jughead counters, “I’ve always assumed that this is the only way to be, but that’s not true at all. Sometimes you’ve got to chase your dreams.”

She offers a smile, but confusion etches her face, “You deserve it, Jug. But… why are you here?”

Jughead jumps off his motorcycle and steps over to her. Is it his imagination or is she floating towards him as well? He doesn’t exactly know what to say or do, but there’s something heavy stuck in his chest and he thinks this is the only way to lift it.

“I told you, I have to chase my dreams,” he mutters.

Disbelief crosses her face first before it bursts into elation. She closes the space between them (oh, they were too far from each other) and he feels the heat from her, searing against his own skin. Before he can process anything, she throws her arms around his neck, sighing in his ear. It sends a river of vibrations through his body and he thinks it’s strange to feel at home with a stranger like her.

“That was cheesy,” she whispers in his ear. He feels his heart soar as he wraps his arms around her body, relief seeping in his skin.

They break away from each other, but he realizes he can’t let go.

“I’m sorry,” he bursts out.

“You said that already,” she points out, a teasing smile covering her lips.

“And thank you,” he adds.

“For what?”

“For everything. For believing in me, for sending my stories to a publisher,” Jughead inhales, “For taking time with a loser like me.”

“You’re not a loser, Jug,” Veronica rolls her eyes. “If you were, then they wouldn’t have taken a shot with you. _I_ wouldn’t have taken a shot with you.”

Jughead breathes out, “I know it’s weird because we’ve known each other for a span of a few days, but I really like you, Veronica.”

“I really like you, too, Jug.”

“And I want to give us a chance.”

Her eyes twinkle not unlike when fairies play. Her voice is a release from his inner insecurities and a brush of fresh relief as she says, “I want to be with you, Jug.”

Jughead finds that dreaming isn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

* * *

It’s been a year, but Jughead still takes a breath of disbelief when he wakes up with Veronica in his arms.

In the year, he’s published his book of short stories, moved in with Veronica Lodge in her apartment, and has since decided to go to university. It’s hard work, as everything is, but he finds himself being gripped with happiness in most days.

“Hey,” he greets her with a nudge.

She stirs awake, her eyes fluttering open. Her dark eyes spot him, amusement flooding in her face. “Hi. Good morning.”

He steals a kiss from her, and she pushes him away with a laugh, “I have morning breath!”

“You smell perfect,” he grins.

“You’re right, Veronica Lodge always smells perfect.”

So, he kisses her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading my short story! thank you also for the support and comments and kudos. you seriously motivated me to write each chapter :> i hope you liked this one! love you guys <3


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